The bright lights, the roar of the crowd, the rush of adrenaline through the veins. The fame, the glory of holding a golden belt high in the air, facing the odds each time you stepped into the ring. There were many reasons men and women donned their gear and put their bodies on the line night after night. Few were in it for the outlet of expelling their pent-up aggressions. Even fewer did it because they enjoyed beating the crap out of others, and putting their own bodies through hell. Each twinge of pain the next day, pure pleasure, bringing back the memories like a souvenir kept by a serial killer. Bruises were badges of honor, to wear with pride. Every drop of blood spilled on either side, not quenching the thirst, but driving it harder than before. Always wanting more. Needing more.

Lycana stretches out, her eyes on the duo in the ring as they go through the basic move sets. She shakes her head as the bubbly blonde flubs a hip toss. The trainer, an athletic dark-haired woman immediately gets on her, her countenance harsh but not more than it needs to be. The blonde is reduced to near tears simply from a rebuke. She wouldn’t make it if she didn’t harden up. She wouldn’t be good for more than just a vapid shell, smiling at everyone while hanging on the arm of some man who had more brawn than talent. Perhaps put in a match where she just pranced around and played at being a wrestler, giggling like the mindless food she was. Eye candy, like far too many of the women in wrestling still. The division had come a long way from what it once was, but as long as floozies like this one hung around, they would always be set back.

What was needed was women who were not afraid to get to throw themselves out there, to face any obstacle in their path. And they were out there, slowly but surely overturning the idea of women just being there for aesthetic pleasures. Lycana had leaned more towards XWF than other federations for that very reason. She had heard that the women here were not afraid to take on all comers. She had her doubts, given her most recent search but she was taking the leap and giving it a shot anyway, on the off chance that that was true. The belt allotted to female however... did not seem to hold any kind of grandeur. She woudnt have even known of its existence except the fact she was in a number one contenders match for it.

Lycana makes her way towards the ring as the blonde bails out, rushing towards the locker rooms. The trainer stands in the middle of the ring rubbing her eyes wearily, as Lycana climbs through the ropes something that might be compared to a smirk on her face. “They can't all be winners, Tempest.” The brunette looks up with a wry expression.“I'd give my right tit to even have a decent one show up.” She rolls her head, popping her neck as she does so. “I swear, all that has walked through the door lately are ones who just want to be pretty faces on television.” The two square off, falling into an easy routine that they had practiced many times before. A simple warm up before getting into some work that would really prep Lycana for the pay per view.

She wouldn’t call Tempest a friend per say, but she was much more tolerable than most of the general population in Lycana’s opinion. She was one hell of a trainer though. She had encouraged Lycana’s love for brutality, not even batting an eyelash upon learning her student liked being on the receiving end as much as dishing it out. Others had turned her away or shown obvious disgust, so she had left. Once she had connected with Tempest, she had never looked back. It was always better when there was another student here that shared Lycana’s idiosyncrasies, but she was only here to get some aggression out before she headed to Arizona and had to sequester herself from acting out. At least until the event where she finally got to have her first match.

“You know they were talking down about you already right?” Lycana didn’t have to ask Tempest who ‘they’ were. She knew. She made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement. It was all part of the game, to talk trash about an opponent. To try and get under their skin, psych them out before they even entered the arena. Put the stench of fear out to mingle with the sweat that tainted the air. Let them talk all they wanted about her. The only thing she really cared about, was her own perverse pleasures. Winning was only in her scope of vision so she could get moved up the ranks to compete with the best of the best. She wouldn’t be pleased if she were stuck among the jobbers every event."Their trivial words mean nothing to me." They had no idea what she was capable of, their own studies sadly lacking.

Lycana bounces off the ropes and charges Tempest, then feels her body hurtling through the air. She crashes down onto the mat, her breath whooshing out of her in an exhilarating rush. With a grin she pops back up to her feet, moving to hook up with her trainer once more, finding herself in a headlock, she manages to counter, flipping Tempest down. She drops an elbow, immediately taking advantage, by hopping up to the top turnbuckle. Waiting until Tempest gets to her feet, she takes her place in the sky, her second home, catching her with a dragonrana. She waits the three count then rolls off placing her hands on her hips as she waits for Tempest to get to her feet. She does, with a light laugh. “I think you're ready for this.”

They step back from one another, sweating and lightly winded. Knowing she wouldn’t get much small talk from Lycana, Tempest simply tosses her a towel to wipe her face and goes about her business, raising her hand in farewell when she sees the cerulean haired woman exiting the building, yelling out a good luck. Lycana merely inclines her head in response, and heads towards her car, where she already has a bag packed. A quick glance at her cell phone tells her she had plenty of time to take the long drive to the airport, and have time to kill while she waits for her plane to depart. Once there, she settles herself at the bar, sipping a drink while watching the masses mill around like a flock a docile, meek animals... most willing to be led blindly to whatever awaited them. Mixed in amongst them she imagined, were the predators. Those who chewed their prey up with zero regard for what they left behind. Upon hearing her flight number called, she slides off the barstool, striding towards her gate to board the aircraft that would transport her to Arizona.

Nearly nine hours later, after a layover, she is finally stepping foot off the place in Tuscon, cursing the long drive ahead of her into Tombstone. Soon after, she is in the rented car, chipping away at the miles between her and her hotel. Putting her foot to the floor, she makes record time, and before she knows it, she is checked in, dropping her bag on the floor of her room as she makes her way over to the window to look out at a whole lot of nothing. Sand, sand and more sand. Maybe a tumbleweed or two. There were only a few more days before High Stakes rolled around, she would have to find something to do to occupy her time. She knew there were members here she could hang around with, but she would much rather see if there were a pack of wolves around. She connected better to them than she did people. Even coyotes were preferable to humans. She flicks the curtains closed and boots her laptop up, turning the camera on.

“How uncertain life is. Even the next second is unpredictable. Tick tick tick. Time is ticking away, until my fate is to be determined at High Stakes. I get my first taste of action inside the wrestling ring, against a true opponent, two of them. Two sad little souls. Tick tick tick... their time of oblivion is coming to an end. They will mourn the loss of it, wish for their ignorant and unsuspecting little worlds back once they step into mine. They have an appointment with the darkness, and I am their chaperone. I will lead them into the abyss where they will meet their doom. They will experience nothing but torment at my hands, discover not a shred of mercy lives within my being. I have no desire beyond destroying these two pitiful creatures, so I can move on to something a little more my style.

What might that be? A kindred spirit. A creature who covets agony. Lives and breathes just to mangle another's carcass. Taking their own pleasure in giving the gift of pain, whilst reveling in the rapture one can obtain by being on the receiving end of such ‘tender’ ministrations. There are a few on the roster who tickle my fancy, ones whose agendas I believe run parallel to my own. I long to meet one of them in the ring, be it friend or foe. One in particular, speaks to the depths of me. One who seeks, as I seek, the most wicked, the most debased. He looks for wolves amongst a flock of sheep. He curls his lip in disgust at the bleating masses who mill about, pretending to know of the dark, when truly they know nothing more than their safe little pastures.

Halocen seems to believe she walks along the precipice of the shadow, with her ‘edgy’ nature. Wanting to prove herself, take on all comers with open arms. Big talk from someone who doesn’t have much to back those claims up except a bunch of losses. I suppose, if I were to concede a point, that I can admire someone who gets their ass handed to them each time they come out from behind the curtains, but keeps fighting on. Then again, there is that old adage of teaching an old dog new tricks. Unless the trouncings arouse you, I’d recommend taking a few steps down the ladder... engage with those more on your level. Perhaps you can pick up a few pointers, even a win if you're lucky since that seems so important to you. You are of no concern nor interest to me. Insipid and unremarkable at your best.

Atara, the one of the two that's more of interest simply due to the fact she has more experience. Unfortunately, that does not equal aptitude. She touts herself as a Queen, but the only kingdom I see her presiding over right now is a stagnant career. Perhaps if you put as much energy into actual wrestling as you do into your social media, you'd have a stronger presence. So consumed in all your grand hauteur, trying hard to fill the emptiness that yawns inside, threatening to expose your inferiority. Seeking to impress those around you with nothing but a fetching shell. Once your outer layers are peeled away, your trite and vacuous reality fails to rouse even the vaguest excitement. Substandard and inadequate, under the guise of pretentiousness you may have earned at one point... but can no longer claim the mantle for.

It would be gratifying if my calculations about the two of you were proven incorrect. Perhaps one of you will surprise me, and give me a real brawl. The lure of the Shooting Star belt might spur on a little bit of exertion, push you to try and defeat the other two, to get your hands on whoever the champion may be. To show up and put your all in, instead of just posturing for the cameras. You both seem quite eager to win, to have the dubious honor of wrapping a piece of material around your waist. The contrast between us is, however... that I do not require sparkly adornments to be satisfied with my accomplishments. Title belts mean nothing to me. Winning it all only means one thing to me. Stronger, more worthwhile opponents. The only thing I crave. If that means setting my sights on a useless strap, once I am through with you, so be it. I would find it most thrilling to have a bullseye on oneself, to lure in all manner of competition.

You look at me, but you don’t see what looms before you. You see one who is green, who has no experience, who you know nothing of, so you toss all thought of to the side. Misjudging as one who has no skill. A wild card to not concern one's self about. You fail to see the hunger to destroy you both. The drive to spill your blood all over the mat. To maim and abuse your worthless hides... for nothing more than the pure amusement I get out of it. The ruthless desire to break you down, leave you battered and scarred. But you will learn. Halocen and Atara, come High Stakes, I will take you down into the murky depths of the dark, to your demise. And I will rejoice in every pain laced scream torn from your throats.”

Once done, she makes sure the video feed is sent before slamming the laptop closed and leaving the hotel, taking her rental and driving aimlessly, letting her instincts guide her. She winds up on a desolate stretch of road with no lights. She pulls over to the shoulder and exits the car, stepping out into the desert, melding into the darkness. Soon enough, she is far beyond sight of the road, and she pauses. Sensing a presence... make that multiple... around her. She waits patiently. A burly bearded man, with long pale hair paces towards her stopping and studying her with a suspicious expression on his face. “Awfully far out for someone to be wandering alone.” Lycana inclines her head. “I could say the same for you... although, the rest of the pack are out there too, aren't they?” The mans eyebrows shoot up as he regards her with a look of incredulousness. “And who might you be?”

“Lycana.” The man sucks in a barely audible breath, the dubious expression being replaced with a much more apprehensive one. Lycana smirks at him. “I can see you’ve heard of me.” She feels him probing at her mind, trying to ascertain if she was telling the truth or not. She allows a few shields to come down, letting him in far enough to learn what he needed to know, before using her mental powers to throw his subconscious out, slamming the walls up once more. She could break his down should she choose to see exactly what he was thinking, what he thought of her but chose restraint, on the off chance that ‘someone’ might take notice. The tension in the air between them drops slowly. His hair blowing around him in a gust of wind, the man merely nods his understanding. “My name is Theoren. What brings you here?” he questions her, his tone switching to a friendlier one now that he realizes she is, indeed an ally to the lycanthropes, no need for an attack from the pack forthcoming.

“Im sure you’ve heard of the wrestling event being held in town.” she waves a hand in the vague direction of the epicenter of Tombstone. He nods, but doesn’t say another word as she continues on. “I am taking part in one of the matches.” Theoren runs a hand slowly over his grizzled face as he studies her, with a motion of his hand six sets of glowing eyes slink from the surrounding night, close enough that she can just make out the outlines of the ones running on four legs. Harder to see, are the three shadows that remain on two. “You are welcome to join us tonight, share both our fire and a meal. I’m sure you have much to tell us about our brethren from the east.” Lycana accepts, feeling the message unfurl from his skull, passing to the surrounding figures that grow closer, letting them know all was well. Maintaining eye contact, Theoren transforms, his clothes shredding, bones cracking until a blondish hued wolf stands there, shaking the remnants of fabric from his fur.

She extends her greetings to the other members who gather around to regard her from their various forms. The sight of so many who could transform themselves causes her to feel the familiar stream of envy, as it threads through her stomach, curling around her other organs, constricting them like a python. Her muscles quiver with the suppressed rage and bitterness. She shoves it deeper down inside of her, forcing it back into the furthest recesses of her body to fester and stew, waiting for her to call upon it as one of her demons to be released upon the two women she was to meet. She would pull the venom up, and let it decimate them. She turns her attention back to the Alpha of the pack as his voice rings out in her mind, clear as a bell although no ‘normal’ human around them would be able to hear it. “Come, follow us and let us go.” As one, the group turns and makes their way into across the sands, fading from view, swallowed by the inky night.